Why Can't You Want Me Like The Other Boys Do?
by Beejette
Summary: John comes back into Jo's life just as she's coming into her own.
1. Chapter 1

Jesus.

That's the first thought in John's head as he sees the girl he used to know. He's always remembered her a skinny little girl, tall and lanky, with stringy blonde hair, curious brown eyes and two front teeth that were slightly too big to match the rest of her face, like she'd always stay twelve years old.

That's definitely not the grown woman standing in front of him. She's tall and slim, true, but her hips curve pleasantly and her breasts, however small, are nearly visible through her tank top in the sunlight, so he can see the rosy peaks of her nipples, see the points of them, like she was cold even on the unseasonably warm day. Her jeans clung to her hips and legs and accentuated her pert ass when he saw it as she turned to toss the trashbag she's holding into the dumpster. Her hair is the same blond, but it's got more bounce and a few curls, reflecting the sun brilliantly and as she approaches him, he sees her eyes are the same, bright and wide and excited and the same chocolatey brown. She's grown into her teeth, framed by two full lips, the bottom slightly chapped and swollen from her worrying it between her teeth.

"Jo." It's the only greeting he can manage for her, his mind still recovering from the shock and trying to piece together the little girl in his memory with the grown woman he sees now.

She offers him a smile, a slight uptilt of her lips. "John. How are you doing?"

His shrug is slight, a twitch of his shoulders under his jacket. "I'm alright. How are you doing?"

She nods. "Good. You just missed Dean and Sam."

John's heart tightened at the mention of his sons and he wondered if his eldest had tried to pick the girl up. She was just his type, pretty and long-legged with enough spunk and fire to keep him interested for more than a day. John had no doubts that even if she had let him in her pants, she'd have kicked his ass if he'd skipped out the next morning without a goodbye and his smell still lingering on the pillow.

"They come through often?" It's the only question he can manage that doesn't break his facade, his stony expression, too much.

She shrugs, a slight rise and fall of her slim shoulder. "Often enough that Mom has me keep a few cots ready for them, not that they ever accept. I think the idea of being around other hunters that long, someplace well-known, makes em nervous."

John nodded. He'd taught his sons well enough to know that not all other hunters were to be trusted. Hell, he was walking proof of that, wasn't he, and he cant help but see how much Jo resembles her father. "Good. Maybe Ellen can keep their asses in shape since I can't."

Jo laughed and the sound makes John want to move closer and...But he stays in his spot. He can't explain the want that had resonated through him in that instant.

Yes he can.

It's one word, two syllables that have been carved into his heart since he was 18.

Mary.

Jo reminded him of his wife, back when they'd first started dating, bright and eager with blond hair to her shoulders. But where Mary's eyes were deep blue, Jo's were that chocolate brown and her mouth was different, lips fuller than Mary's, but their figures were so similar, long-legged and slim and the perfect puzzle piece for his arms.

He nearly missed what she was saying in his thoughts, but he was good at that, focusing on the conversation while his mind wandered, used it when hunters talked at him and he was thinking of a hunt.

"I wouldn't doubt it. Probably keep your ass in line too."

John let's a half chuckle out, shaking his head. He didn't doubt that either.

"She inside?"

Jo nodded, biting her lip again. "Yeah. You gonna go in?"

"Maybe. Think she'd pull a gun on me again?"

"Would you be surprised?"

John sighed. No. He wouldn't. "Just tell her I dropped by, okay?"

Jo rolled her eyes and crossed her arms as he turned and started to walk away. "No."

John paused, glancing back. "What?"

"I said no. You want her to know you came by, you tell her yourself. I'm no one's messenger." And with that, she turned and sauntered back inside, and he couldn't keep his eyes off the swell of her ass in those jeans. Her attitude forced a half smile from his lips. Firecracker, that one.

Nevertheless, he follows her into the Roadhouse. She pauses to talk to two hunters sitting at a table. One has his hand on the small of her back, fingers slowly inching down. The monster in his chest, the one that had remained dormant since Sam and Dean set out for their own hunts, growls, protective and possessive. Before he can move, Jo arches a brow at the hunter. "You wanna keep that hand, Travis, I suggest you get it off me."

The hunter laughed good naturedly and let his hand slide off her. "Damn, Jo. Can't let a guy get in a good feel, can ya?"

"Damn straight," she replied with a curt nod and she takes their empty bottles off the table to carry them behind the counter. As she does, he's met with the sight of Ellen just coming out of the back and she stops short when she sees him. Her mouth thins into a line and she crosses her arms over her chest, walking across the room to stand in front of him.

"What the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay away from my bar."

John sighs. "Ellen..."

"No. Don't say a thing, John. You can't show up and expect everything to be fine, no matter how long it's been."

Resignation tightens in his chest and he nods. She was right. He shouldn't have come. "I'm sorry."

He turns and makes his way out of the saloon and into his truck, starting the engine and gunning it for the state line.

Jo watched from behind the bar, pretending not to listen, and when he walked away, she watched her mother a moment before she turned, catching her daughter's eyes, and then crossed to slide behind the bar. "Did he talk to you?"

Jo nodded. "A little. Asked about Sam and Dean. About you."

"I don't want you talking to him, Joanna Beth. That man's a good hunter, but he's trouble."

Jo only nodded. She knew the story and what had happened between him and her father. Of course, she was only doing it to placate her mother, but she didn't need to know that.

Later that night, while Jo was cleaning up, half her mind was on her tasks and half was on John, wondering about the reason behind his visit. No way he'd wasted gas and time coming up here just to see if her mother had forgiven him yet. Maybe he just wanted to check on Sam and Dean. But he could do that by phone.

John.

She'd had the biggest schoolgirl crush on him when she was younger, when he'd taken her toy back from Dean for her and tugged gently and teasingly on one of her pigtails. He'd let her climb up in his lap and pretend to drive the Impala until her mother had called her inside to stop bothering 'Uncle John', the normal for all her dad's friends and contacts, like they were all related by blood.

He was different than she remembered, but then, she figured, she was different than he remembered. He favored his right leg slightly when he walked and there were more scars on his hands than she'd remembered. She went about her nightly routines as usual, cleaning up, closing up, shower and brushing her teeth and getting into her nightclothes and getting under the covers.

She'd still been thinking about John and her Mom and her Dad when she fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been nearly six months since the Roadhouse, six months of wondering if Ellen was okay, six months of thinking about Jo. The night found him just coming into his motel room, phone pressed to his ear to listen to his voicemail, and he's surprises as hell when he hears Ellen's voice on the message.

"John. It's Ellen...I can't believe I'm calling you, but I didn't know who else to call. Jo's gone missing. I wouldn't put it past her to have skipped out, but she didn't leave me any word. Sam and Dean are already looking for her and so is Bobby, but I want everyone I can get on this. She's...she's my girl and I can't lose her." She sighs and pauses a moment before he hears the click of the call ending.

He's in action immediatly, shoving his clothes into a bag, cell cradled between his ear and shoulder calling up his sons.

They have as little information as he does and that's how it goes for two and a half weeks, 18 days spent worrying and calling up old connections and worrying some more.

He's in a dump of a bar in Memphis, Tennessee, bent over his journal, scribbling in it. The bar is the kind of place where people go to forget just how middle class they are, and it's easy to tune them out except for keywords that he's learned to listen out for. It's then that he hears it, hears a smack from a few tables over, male chuckling, and then a female voice.

"You wanna keep that hand, you better get it offa me."

John's head snapped up immediately, eyes flicking around the bar for her and when he finally finds her, hair piled on top of her head and showing off he slender neck, he breathes a sigh of relief, because that's Jo alright. He'd know that ass anywhere, and that alone is sending him straight to hell. She's wearing jeans and a tank top and she's got on an apron knotted around her waist. So she's working at this dump. Not a big surprise. You tend to attract attention if you continue to hustle and pickpocket and stay in one place.

He gets up to approach her, but thinks better of it. He doesn't wanna get into a screaming match with her in the middle of the bar.

So John waits around, mills outside to wait for her until closing. When the bar does finally close, he starts to approach her again, because she still doesn't see him, but he pauses, still hidden in the shadows, as she glances around, as if she's making sure no one's watching, and gets into her truck and pulls off.

It piques his interest and he follows her, expecting to go to the place where she's staying. Instead, she pulls up at the edge of the woods and gets out, grabbing a bag out of her rundown Ford and slinging it over her shoulder as she walks into the trees. John pulls up right beside her truck and she's far enough into the woods that she doesn't hear him.

Her trail is an easy one to follow, even being as quiet as she was. He finds her easy as you please and steps up behind her, grabbing her arm. Big mistake on his part.

Her fist crashes into his jaw and Jesus Christ, she's got quite a left hook. There's a gun pointed at his face before he can regain feeling in his jaw and he growls. "Christ, girl, it's me!"

A flashlight is shined in his eyes and she curses. "Scared the living hell outta me, John. What the hell are you doing here? This is my hunt!"

"I don't want the hunt. I'm taking you home. Your mother has been calling up every hunter she can lookin for you. Who the hell do you think you are, runnin off in the middle of the night like that!"

"You're not taking me anywhere," she snarls, and slips out of reach when he goes to grab her. "I did it cuz I had to, cuz if I didn't, she woulda kept me there or made me go to college and I don't belong there, okay?"

John clenched his teeth together. If there was one thing that could be said about John, it's that he was stubborn. "I'm takin you home and that's the end of it. Now get back to the truck, go to your apartment, and pack your shit."

"I'm not packing anything! What makes you think you have the right to boss me around? You sure as hell aren't my father!"

The shout hangs between them heavily but before he can retort, there's claws ripping through his shoulder, pain blooming through his brain and body.

Jo jumps into action, pushing John out of the way. He slumps against the tree a minute and a half and in that time, she's got her gun raised and John's shocked to see it's a flare gun that she shoots, catching the wendigo in the side with it. Quick as a flash, she's got another one and the next flare hits the creature square in the chest.

When she's sure it's slumping and smoldering on the ground, checks with her flashlight, she goes over to John, prying his fingers away from his shoulder.

"Let me see, damn it!"

John sighs and she's shining a flashlight on his shouler, ripping his already shredded shirt further to get a better look. Letting out a low sound, she reached for her bag and pulled out what look like it used to be a metal cashbox, lock and everything and when she opens it, it indeed holds several wads of money, lonely ones and fives here and there. Shoved in with the money are bandages, peroxide, gauze and a sewing kit. It takes her all of five minutes to wash and mend his wound and when she finished, she shoved two pills and a flask at him. "Take two of these and call me in the morning," she murmurs, smirk on her face, but all he can see is the way she holds her flashlight in her mouth while spreading Neosporin and bandaging shoulder and how he'd like to see her lips...

Christ, did he just think that?

He sighed and popped the pills, swallowing them down with what was in the flask, which turned out to be water. "What are those?"

"One was antibiotics and one was a pain pill," she replied, finally pulling away and closing up her box. and putting it back into the bag. "You're gonna be fine, but I guess you knew that." She takes the flask from him and takes a sip. "Holy water. Good for the soul," she joked, tucking it back into her pocket.

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she started to pull John up. "Come on. You need to get some rest. Look like you're gonna pass out."

The only reason he lets her lead him is that he doesn't have the energy to argue. He hadn't realized how much blood he'd lost until he saw his shirt in the moonlight, and it was all down his shoulder and side and he could even feel it wetting his leg. "Jesus, John. You weigh a ton," she joked softly, grip growing tighter on his hand and around his waist as she helped him to his truck. "Let's take yours. No way in hell anyone would steal mine."

She gets her bag out of the back of her truck and throws it into his before locking it and pocketing the keys. John slumps in the passenger seat of his truck as she drives them to where she's staying, a pleasant looking apartment building. She lives on the bottom floor in the back, next to the back door, and it's actually nice, in an old seventies kind of vibe. She leads him into the bathroom and sits him on the toilet, flipping on the shower. "I brought in your bag so you can change," she explains, helping him pull his destroyed shirt off.

John only nodded and when she went to unbuckle his belt, his hands arrested hers. "I can do this myself."

Jo only nodded. "You can soak your jeans in the sink when you're done. I got a washer and dryer if you wanna wash em after they soak."

She leaves then, only pushing open the door a second later to sit his duffle inside, and then shuts it behind her again.

John groaned as he was left alone, letting the pain show on his face. Fuck, he had a few good gouges that he could see in the mirror over the bathroom sink. His entire torso was covered in blood, thick and matted disgustingly in his chest hair. Heaving a sigh, he undressed and climbed into the shower, gently washing away the blood, so the water that puddled at his feet was tinted with it.

When he was finished, he spent a second watching the water swirl down the drain before he got out, drying down with one of her towels, and pulling on his clothes. He could smell coffee coming from the kitchen.

He filled the sink with cold water and dumped his blood-soaked jeans into it before heading out to steal a cup. Surprisingly, Jo already had one for him, and offered it to him when he walked in. "Didn't know how you took it."

"Black's fine," John replied.

Jo nods and then takes another sip of her coffee. "So, you can take the bed. And it's no use arguing with me. I don't want you pulling those stitches out on the couch. Besides, my house, my rules."

He considered arguing, but he didn't know how much good that might do. Finally, he conceded, nodding curtly, and handed her the cup, barely a sip taken out of it, and headed back the hall.

The bedroom smelled like her, and so did the bed, more so, he realized as he sat on the edge and then laid down. He got the feeling she spread out when she slept. The window was open, letting in warm July breeze, and he sighed softly as he heard her moving out in the living room.

Even with the naturally sweet scent of her, there was a musk he recognized. Sex, the smell of come and sweat. He was hard and pushing against his zipper before he could control the thoughts of her, tangle of milky skin and blonde hair, riding a faceless man or maybe on her back, legs wrapped around his waist. Maybe even on her hands and knees, glancing over her pale shoulder to watch his face. He could see it like he was the person under her, over her, in her, and it releases a stifled groan from his throat.

It was wrong to. He wasn't in his room. He was in Jo's, little Jo, Joanna Beth Harvelle, who'd been the first girl to give Dean a good sock in the face. But she wasn't little anymore. She was full grown, all the right curves in all the right places.

Turning his face, he buried his nose into her pillow and inhaled, and his other hand was snaking down before he could get a hold of himself, pressing against his hard on with a soft sound.

A knock echoed through the room and John jumped, hurried himself with turning on his side to hide his painful erection, and let out a gruff, "Hm?" Yes, she was all woman and he knew it when she opened the door and her tank top was off, over her shoulder, and her jeans were unbuttoned, hair falling loose, though she was gathering it into a braid for bed. "Hey," she smiled softly. "Just need some nightclothes."

She crossed to her dresser and he let his eyes wander from her hands securing her hair, down her back, the straps of her simple white sports bra, her lower back, the curve of her pert little ass, the long lines of her legs. She retrieved two things out of her dresser and smiled at him again as she exited the room. "Goodnight, John."

"Night Jo," he replied gruffly and sighed, closing his eyes and forcing himself to sleep and ignore her smell clinging to the pillows and blankets.


	3. Chapter 3

**I should probably give a warning, this is where the Mature rating kicks in.**

The next morning, John got up feeling groggy, his shoulder pounding in pain, and shuffled to the bathroom. Jo was lying across the couch, covers kicked into a ball on the floor like she'd been too hot, and even then, he could see the damp on her skin, clinging to it and making her hair at her temples a little damp too. She wore a tank top that was too thin for regular wear. Even not in the sunlight, he could see through the thin fabric, could see the round of her tits and the rose peaks of her nipples. It was raised up just under her bust, granting him a view of her flat belly and belly button. She wore white cotton boyshorts that were see-through too if he looked hard enough, which he shouldn't. He was already gawking at her like some kind of dirty old man.

But even as he thought it, his eyes found the lines of her pussy through the fabric, well enough to know she shaved, or at the very least, trimmed. One leg was up against the back of the couch, and the other was spread, lying on the seat, foot under the opposite leg, so if she just shifted a fraction more, he'd probably be able to see her clit.

He forced his gaze away from the sleeping girl and clenched his jaw. He was fucking sick. This girl was younger than his youngest son, and here he was, having the most lewd thoughts about her, thoughts that belonged in an x-rated movie, and he sighed, hand slipping through his hair, and turned back into the bathroom for a cold shower.

Even in there, he decided maybe a little release would take his mind off things. It took him less than three minutes to come and he rested back against the shower wall, panting for a moment to catch his breath. He finished his shower and then got out to dry and dress. Jo was already up when he came out and thankfully, she'd put on jean shorts to cover the boyshorts, but he could still see through her top as she made coffee.

"Hey. Help yourself to some coffee and there's some doughnuts on the counter."

John made no move to get himself anything and watched her a moment. Jo's smile melted and she sighed, shaking her head. "I'm not going back, John. I'll call her, write her, whatever...but I'm not going back."

John only nodded. "Call her if you're not going to go see her. I understand needing to get out on your own, but she's scared. She thinks she's going to lose you."

"She always thinks she's going to lose me." She shook her head. "I'm careful. You saw me last night. Saved your ass. I can do this."

John nodded again. She was more than capable. "I'm not saying you cant. I'm saying you can't do this if you don't at least let your mother know you're alive."

Jo sighed, eyes closing a moment before she nodded. "Alright. I'll call her. Go get something to eat."

She walked over to her messenger bag and rifled through it a moment before turning up with her cell phone. She turned it on and John left the room to give her privacy, getting some coffee and a plain doughnut to munch on while he waited.

Jo sighed as she waited through the ringing, biting her bottom lip and crossing her arms. "Harvelle's Roadhouse," her mother answered and she could hear the fatigue in her voice and she felt guilty immediately.

She takes a breath and bit her lip. "Hey Mom. It's me."

Her mother's breathing stopped for a fraction of a second. "Oh thank god. What in the hell were you thinking, sneaking off in the middle of the night like that? I've been worried sick! Thank god you're alright. I'm coming to get you. Where are you?"

"Mom, I'm fine, and I'm sorry for not saying anything or leaving a note, but... I'm staying here."

"You are not. You tell me where you are right now, Joanna Beth."

Already a fight. Though she hadn't expected anything less. "I have to do this. Mom. I have to."

"Why? So you can go running off like your Daddy and get yourself killed? I can't lose you. You have no idea...just...come home."

Jo sighed, shaking her head. "I can't. You don't understand. I'll call again soon. I love you."

She hung up before her mother could respond and ran a hand over her face. She knew she was crying, she'd started sometime around the middle of their short conversation, but it surprised her when she broke down, hand covering her mouth to keep the man in her kitchen from hearing.

When arms wrapped around her, it surprised her enough that she jumped, but she recognized John's motor oil, beer and sweat smell and she turned in his arms, the want for someone to hold her stronger than her embarrassment at him seeing her crying.

"Shhh...shhh. It's okay," he murmurs, and she's pretty sure its far from okay, but she doesn't say it. She only buries her face in his chest, clutching his shirt, and sobs uncontrollably, shoulders wracking, and he can only hold her, hands rubbing absently at her back.

She isn't sure how long she stood there in his arms and cried, but finally, her tears stopped and she was just breathing unevenly, face still wet and red. His lips fall to her hair and she glances up, knowing she must look frightful, and her eyes flick back and forth between his for a moment, still red-rimmed and puffy. John gives her a gentle smile and kisses her forehead and she feels his lips against her skin and it's comforting and not all at the same time, and she leaned up after a moment, standing on tiptoes to crush her lips to his.

John hesitates, freezes automatically, but she's no fool. She'd felt him watching her on the couch, caught it in his eyes when he'd been looking between her spread thighs and she'd peeked through her eyelashes at him, and she'd heard him in the shower.

Automatically, he began to pull back and sighed softly. "Jo..."

"I know, John. I know you want me. It's okay. I want you too," she breathed as she pressed her mouth to his again.

John's hands closed around her upper arms and he goes along with it for a second, lets her press in harder, and then he's hauling her back, holding her at arms length for a few moments, breathing hard through his nose, eyes dark and unintelligable. "This is not okay, Joanna. I'm nearly three times your age. I'm...I'm old and wrinkled and I got too many years and too many scars. You're young and fresh-faced, and you aren't gonna waste your time with me."

She rolled her eyes. "Is this because you think I'm still a virgin?" John went silent, face hard. "I'm not, John. And I know what I want." If nothing else, she was a woman who knew what she wanted and she wanted him. "So stop acting like you're stopping for me."

"I am!" He was angry, his face red and eyes hard. "I'm a grizzly old man!'

"So what? I don't care!"

"I do! Your mother would skin me alive!"

Jo rolled her eyes and jerked her arms out of his grasp. "Jesus Christ, really? Like watching me all the time like you have been is any better?"

John froze again and stared at her and she crossed her arms. "I saw you this morning. Looking at me. How is the way you look at me any different?"

He growled and some part of her admits she likes it when he does that, but she's too pissed off to admit it fully. "Because that's wrong enough! You realize you're younger than Sam? Younger than my youngest son! That's...pitiful, Jo. I'm pathetic for even thinking like I have been."

"For fuck's sake, stop it!" It was the first time she'd used that word in front of him, mostly because her mother had always taught her a lady didn't talk like a sailor and she sure as hell wasn't a lady, but for some reason, it had stuck with her. "Just stop! You know what, you're not pathetic. You're a coward."

"What did you call me," John asked dangerously low, and that warning voice in Jo's head kicked on. He was bigger than her. And stronger than her. But there's no way he would hurt her. She knew that.

"A coward," she spat. "I know the real reason why you wont, why you wont let anyone get close to that nice brick wall you've built up around yourself. It's because you're scared. Terrified even. But not everyone you let close to you is going to die!"

John's jaw was flexing under his dusting of week-old scruff, and he was making a sound that could be construed as soft growling and she knew she'd hit some kind of nerve.

Jo shook her head. "Screw this. I'll go get what I need somewhere else."

She turns and stalks over to the door but John is on her before she can turn the knob, slamming her against the wall, hands like vises around her biceps. "Just gonna go out and fuck some random stranger?"

"Better than sitting here so you can stare at me some more," she replied, staring him down, unblinking. They're both breathing harshly, inhaling each others air, and then suddenly, his mouth is covering hers, hard and unforgiving, and she jerked away, pissed off beyond belief, and starts kicking and struggling. "Who the fuck do you think you are? Get the hell off me! Don't touch me!"

John holds her tighter, pressing his hips into hers so she cant kick him or buck him away, and she gasps sharply, breath caught in her throat. "I'd rather fuck you than let you go out and pick up some random guy."

Jo turned her face away from his, tried to regain some semblance of thought other than the fact that he was pressed against her, tight, body flush to his, and she bit her lip softly. "I'd rather fuck them than you," she replied, meaning it to sound acidic and cold, aloof, but her voice shook more than she would've liked.

John chuckled softly against her skin and it raised goosebumps, no matter how hard she tried to fight it. "Little liar," he murmured softly and Christ, he's hit the nail on the head with that one, because she'd take on a vamp nest single-handed if it meant she could drag him to her bed after.

She bucked again, attempting to pull away and when he pulled back to look her in the face, she spat, "Fuck you."

John smirked. "If you insist," he murmured, and kissed her and goddamn, it was like being kissed for the first time all over again. John's tongue was sure and practiced against hers, licking into her mouth, around her tongue, drawing shapes and sucking until she was letting out soft, gasping sounds and the fight had gone out of her, will nonexistent, putty in his hands.

John released her in favor of catching her up in his arms, hands holding the backs of her smooth thighs, and she wrapped her legs around his waist tightly, riding the hot line of his erection pressing against her crotch and he let out a soft groan, carrying her to the couch and dropping down onto it, so she was straddling him. She'd never told anyone, but she liked being on top. Gave her a sense of control and empowerment, being able to set the rhythm

Sliding her fingers through his hair, she sucked at his tongue and lips, nipping, payback for earlier, and her reward was hearing his breathing hitch and the way his hands slid up her thighs to her ass, cupping her cheeks through the thin denim and she lets out a soft moan into his mouth.

Riding against him again, Jo slid her fingers through his hair as his hands slid up the back of her shirt and around to the front, cupping her small breasts, rough thumbs playing against her nipples, tugging them into hard little peaks between his thumb and forefinger, rolling them until she's moaning and squirming on his lap, nails digging into his scalp and arching, head tilted back slightly. He made her feel like a virgin, like he knew her body and how to work it better than she did.

He only proved her point when his hand slipped down to cup her crotch, amazingly good and unbelievably dirty and she gasped, pushing into his hand, and he pushed his middle finger against the thin, well-worn denim, zeroing in on her clit exactly. She moaned softly, biting her lip even as he bit her neck, sucking a mark into her skin she'd wear for days.

John's hand came back to the button of her shorts and she slid off him to unbutton them and slide them down. She reached to take off her tank top, but John grabbed her, pulling her forward slightly, so she was standing closer, and slid to the edge of his seat. His mouth covered one of her nipples through the thin cloth of her tank top and she arched, hand going to his hair, throaty moan leaving her. Another shock registered when she felt him rubbing against the crotch of her panties, rumble sounding in his chest at what he found there, probably how wet she'd grown so quickly. He gripped the front of her panties and pulled up, so the cotton bunched at her clit and Jo let out a keen, hips moving, riding against it as he sucked and nibbled on her nipple through her shirt and Christ, she was about to come just from this.

He must've known, though she wasnt sure how, because he let out another soft rumble and started pulling up repeatedly, grinding the bunch against her clit, and she let out a loud cry, back arching as she came on it, clutching his hair. She leaned on him, sweaty and panting, and he supported her like she weighed nothing, a feather, and he also didn't stop, only switched nipples, making her moan and arch again. He pulled again on her panties, and she whined, oversensitive. John chuckled and she felt the vibrations on her nipple an it made her breath catch and bit her lip.

"Sensitive?" She nodded and he hummed, teeth cutting at the hard peak in his mouth through the shirt. "I think you can come again for me."

He pulled on her panties again and it made her jump, hips tilting up so not much pressure was put on her clit, and she whined again, shaking her head. "I-I can't."

"Yes you can. I know you can. Come again for me, sweetheart," he murmured as he pulled back from teasing her nipple to kiss and mouth at her stomach and abdomen, tongue flicking across her navel and fuck if he didn't know exactly which strings to pull.

He hadn't called her sweetheart or babygirl or anything like that since she was little, and to hear it now shocked her back into a memory of being on his lip in the Impala, making car noises as she turned the wheel from side to side, John's chest against her back and his breath in her hair. It shocked her back to being twelve, still dressing in pink and pigtails because that's what her Daddy liked, John behind her, holding her arms, teaching her the right way to aim and breathe when she shot tin cans off the fencepost. She'd gotten every one and he'd grinned and kissed her hair. "Make a fine hunter one day, babygirl," and she'd grinned big and wide, because that's all she'd ever wanted to be, to hunt things and save people like her Daddy, to be a hero like he was, even to her.

The thought nearly brought tears to her eyes, but this really wasn't the time for it, not with John panting on her skin and grinding her bunched up panties against her clit and fuck if she didn't come hard again when he growled and nipped at her side. She was shaking and damp and he chuckled, pulling her shirt off and then pulling her up, up onto the couch on her feet, pulling her till her knees hit the back of the couch and he took the pressure off her clit, pulled her panties aside, and licked and Jesus Christ.

She gripped his hair again, trembling and arching and whining. She was already on the verge again, body well primed within the past few minutes, and John was obviously counting on that as he gave her clit a suck and her vision went white for a moment. Before she could realize his fingers were sliding down her hips, he pushed one into her, finding her g-spot like he knew were it was. He pressed in once, only once, and she was coming again, arching into his mouth and finger and letting out a wail.

Mercifully, John let her recuperate a moment from that one, but he kept his finger in her, tucking his chin against her pubic mound to glance up at her. She felt her legs give and sank down onto his lap, kissing him, licking her wet from his face, and that made him let out a rumble from deep in his chest again and she could practically feel his hard on pulse against her cunt through the layers of jeans and boxers.

She planted her hand over the bulge and he moved it, shaking his head. "One more. Come for me one more time, and I'll let you do whatever you want. Now get back up against me so I can taste your pussy again."

She whined, but did what she was told, rising up to plant her knees against the back like she had before. He licked into her, sucking an licking at her swollen clit, finger working in and out of her, making sloppy sounds as her come trickled down his hand and wrist, and she came again within seconds, trembling and riding against his face and finger.

Finally, she let her legs give out, resting heavily on his lap, and he pulled that finger out, starting to put it into his mouth, but she caught it, closing her mouth around his finger, tongue working to clean him off and he groaned softly as he watched her, pulling off to swallow and lick at the drips of her come. His hands tasted like sweat and coffee and come and she hummed as she licked it off.

She pulled back to kiss him, fingers dropping his hand to go to his belt buckle, beginning to undo it. "Take off your shirt," she murmured, and he did so. she let her eyes travel along his scars, let her tongue travel them too, a knife wound, a bullet wound, ragged bite wound. John groaned softly, hand petting down her hair as she popped open the button on his jeans and pulled down the zipper, fingers curling into the waistband of his jeans and boxers and pulling them down, his thighs.

His erection is thick and leaking, a spot on his boxers soaked through with it, and she hums, begins to lick off the drips of precome like ice cream and its got him groaning softly, a slight shiver working through him, fingers sliding through he hair. She hums again softly, opening her mouth wider, taking him in, and sucking. His cock was thick, already her jaw was hurting from holding it open so wide, but she didn't let him know that, bobbing on his cock, and it went straight to her cunt when he groaned, fisted her hair in his hand, and husked, "Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck, just like that."

She hums and starts bobbing a bit quicker, tongue sliding over his skin, and he groans again before pulling her off. "Stop, stop, or I'll come and then I have to wait to fuck you."

She shivered and kissed him, feeling the tightness in his body. As she kissed him, it slowly drained and he relaxed so she could slide down and give a pulling suck on his cock again before sliding back up to straddle him again, his tip rubbing against the slickness of her cunt and she moaned softly. "I want to suck you off, feel you come in my mouth," she purred, "But I've waited too long for this." She leaned into kiss him and is surprised when he grips her hips and pulls her down, cock sliding into her easily and fuck, he fills her perfectly, rubbing all the right places as he pulls her down still, till she's taken all he can give and he's breathing heavily with the sensation of her tight and wet and hot around him.

She moans throatily, kissing him and nipping at his lips and tongue as her hips shift up and then back down, arms around him. "John," she whimpers softly, and he growls, pushing his hips up into her as he pulled her back down, so every thrust had him bottoming out, and she moaned loud, fingernails digging into his shoulders. "John...yes! Oh god..."

He growls again and grips her hips so tight, she knows they're going to bruise and he thrusts up into her and his eyes glaze over with his approaching orgasm. She slid her fingers through his hair, kissing him again and then she knew from the look in his eyes that he wasn't seeing her. He was seeing a young blonde girl atop his hips, riding him, but it wasn't Jo.

Part of her was hurt beyond belief. But the other part reasoned, she'd curled up with John when he came with news of her father, curled up and cried and pretended he was Bill, called him Daddy through her tears. Maybe this was her payback.

So even though her orgasm stopped sharply there, she continued to ride him, let him have the fantasy, let him believe it was Mary riding him, moaning. To continue it, she twined their fingers together and buried her face in his neck, kissing his skin, both so he could have this fantasy and to hide her tears when he tensed up and came, heat blooming in her that any other time, would've had her coming with him, groaning his wife's name through his teeth.

She stayed where she was for a few long minutes, and his hands traveled her, kissing the side of her neck, and muttering loving gibberish, and that made her tears slip over and she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her breath to stay normal. It's not like she'd expected him to just forget Mary and fall in love with her or something. She had just hoped he'd had enough desire, enough want, enough fondness, enough _something_ that he could tell the difference, that he wanted to. Finally, she felt him start to calm, hips not jumping or stuttering against her anymore, and she gave his neck one last kiss before standing on shaky legs and she let him believe that it was from being so thoroughly fucked.

She didn't turn to look at him as she walked to the bathroom and shut the door to clean herself up and behind the door, she finally let go, tears sliding full down her face, hand pressed against her mouth to stifle her sobs.


End file.
